


The Lance of Michael

by aeli_kindara



Series: Supernatural Codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s13e06 Tombstone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 11:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12793815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeli_kindara/pseuds/aeli_kindara
Summary: In which Dean catches up to Jack — as do some demons, who think they've found a way to kill him.Coda to 13.06 (Tombstone).





	The Lance of Michael

The demons catch up to him on an open plain somewhere in northeast Montana.

He can’t teleport long distances at once, Jack’s found. Or maybe he could, if he knew where he was going — but he doesn’t, he’s just trying to get away from the bunker, and apparently his powers only want to allow that in hundred-mile chunks, each of which leaves him dizzy and exhausted. He’s considered returning to a place he knows — checking on Clark in North Cove, maybe, or seeking Mia’s help — but he doesn’t want to endanger them, either. He wants to go someplace where he won’t endanger _anyone_. And his mind keeps whispering to him of North, of trees like pencils and frozen expanses of snow and no roads for miles, not a soul for him to hurt.

It doesn’t work out like that. It’s his own fault — every few jumps, he needs to sleep, like he’s been drugged, almost, and when he does, he sleeps for hours. His last jump landed him somewhere in a herd of cattle. Frightened, Jack leaped again — and passed out before even seeing where he’d landed.

He wakes up to something prodding him, hard, in the chest.

For a moment, blinking, he thinks it’s another cow. It’s dark now, the sky above him clear and studded with cold stars, and his body gives an involuntary shiver.

There’s a man standing over him. A man with black eyes. In both hands he’s holding a long spear, and the spear is pointed straight at Jack’s chest.

This doesn’t concern Jack unduly. He knows what good sharp objects are against him. He sits up, forcing the man back a step, and brushes an ant off his face.

“Stay there!” says the man who’s a demon. “Don’t move, or I’ll run you through!”

“I don’t think that will work,” Jack explains. He keeps his voice polite. “I’m very hard to kill.”

“That’s what _you_ think,” sneers a voice on his left. Jack turns his head to see another demon, one he didn’t notice before. This one is inside a woman. “This is the —”

Abruptly, she stops. And Jack hears it: a rumble he already knows better than his own heartbeat, distant, but closing in.

“Fuck,” says the woman. “They’re here! Come with us, boy, we need to —”

But she’s cut off, again, by a blinding flash of silver. And the next moment there’s a dark-skinned man standing behind her, a blade in his hand. An angel. Before the demon can speak, he’s run her through.

Her whole body flickers from the inside out, electric, and then she slumps to the ground.

Jack’s mind flashes to North Cove — the police station, the attack, the horrible sound in his ears. But the pain doesn’t come. The angel turns instead to the other demon, and grins. 

“Hand over the boy,” he says. “You know you can’t beat me.”

And the demon giggles.

“See this here?” He brandishes the spear. “Ring any bells?”

The angel’s eyes widen. “No,” he says. “It’s not —”

“Big bro Michael’s,” the demon confirms, grinning. “Them Winchesters thought they destroyed it, but Crowley stole it back from them. And now he’s gone, and _we_ fixed it.”

“The Lance of Michael,” the angel breathes. “It was made to —” 

“Kill Lucifer,” says a new voice, a deep voice, one that Jack knows. “And now you’re betting you can use it on his son.”

The silence, for an instant, is resounding. Then: “Dean Winchester’s standing behind you,” the demon says conversationally, and launches himself at the angel.

The angel lets out a surprised yell as the blade pierces his shirt, and he falls. The demon doesn’t even look down at him, just wrenches the lance free and grins at Dean, and throws himself forward again. 

Jack hasn’t learned to fight, not really. He can use his powers to blast people into walls, it’s true, but he doesn’t dare try to unleash them now, not with Dean and the demon so close together. Dean’s fighting with an angel blade, batting aside the lance, but every time it almost pierces his defenses, Jack wants to scream. 

Then — in a blinding series of moves Jack almost can’t follow — Dean ducks low, lets the lance pass over his head, and steps right into the demon’s arms, too close for the spear to reach. Almost gently, he thrusts the angel blade home. 

On the ground, the angel is gasping and shaking. He watches Dean bend over slowly to pick up the lance. “Please,” he gasps. 

Dean looks between the lance in one hand and the angel blade in the other. Then he flips the blade in his hand, takes two quick strides, and runs the angel through.

Jack holds his breath. At last, the night is silent. There’s another ant on his arm. Dean stands with his head bowed, staring at the lance in his hand.

“Sam and Cas,” Jack manages after a moment. “Are they — ?”

“They’re fine,” says Dean, without looking up. “On a different lead. Down in Louisiana.”

“Oh,” says Jack, shaky with relief. “Oh. That’s good.”

Still Dean doesn’t take his eyes off the lance. And Jack feels a new swoop of comprehension, something he should have thought of already, thought of long before now.

“Are you going to kill me?” he says.

Dean looks up from the lance, and the spell is broken. His mouth twitches. “No.”

He doesn’t set it down, though, as he steps over the body at his feet and extends a hand to Jack. Jack merely stares.

“Come on,” says Dean. His eyes aren’t on Jack. They’re scanning the surrounding horizon. For danger, maybe. For anything unknown.

Hesitantly, Jack takes Dean’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Dean drops his hand immediately and starts back across the field; the Impala is waiting there, gleaming in the moonlight. When he realizes Jack isn’t following, he stops, and turns.

“Do you think it could?”

Dean’s eyebrows bunch together, just the barest fraction of an inch. “Do I think what could what?”

“That lance,” Jack says. “Do you think it could kill me?”

It seems to take Dean a minute to process this. He looks down at the weapon in his hand. “Maybe,” he says at last. “It’s probably got a better chance than anything else I can think of.”

Jack studies the lance in Dean’s hand. Runework gleams around its handle. There’s a hairline fracture just below the blade, so cunningly repaired it’s almost invisible. Without thinking, he takes a step, then another, and reaches to touch it.

“Oh, no,” says Dean. “Not a chance.” He shifts away.

Jack’s arm drops back to his side. He feels his face flush. He hadn’t — well, he hadn’t been thinking _exactly_ that. He’d just felt a little — entranced, by the lance. Called.

“You said you’d kill me,” he says. “Why not try?”

Dean’s still giving him this look, mouth a little open and half tensed like he can’t figure out what to say. “I said I’d kill you if I had to,” he says finally. “I don’t have to.”

Jack feels his temper flare. “What are you talking about?” he demands. “I killed someone! You saw me! I’m a _monster._ I’m exactly what you were afraid of when you said that! So why not?”

But Dean seems to have come to a decision. He turns away and begins walking again, and Jack has no choice but to follow.

“I told you,” Dean says. “If you’re a monster, we’re all monsters.”

Jack’s hands are balling into fists without him telling them to. “My mom said that it’s not what you are, it’s what you _do_. Castiel agrees with her. So does Sam. Everyone expects me to do these amazing things. But all I do is bad!”

Dean wheels on him suddenly, eyes flashing, and Jack feels a moment of paralyzing fear. _I didn’t mean it,_ he thinks. _I don’t want to die._

But Dean hasn’t turned to swing the lance. “All due respect to your mom,” he says, “but that’s bullshit.”

Jack blinks. “What?” he breathes.

“Sure,” says Dean. “What you do matters. I won’t argue with that. But what you are? That matters too. _Who_ you are.”

“But then,” says Jack. “If I’m — Lucifer’s —”

“Screw Lucifer,” Dean snaps. “So you’re his kid. So what? Sam was his vessel _._ Hell, so was Cas. I say, fuck that guy. You’re not Lucifer’s anything. You’re _family.”_

 _Family._ The word reverberates in Jack’s skull. Without warning, a barrage of images, of words, assaults him, and he gasps, sinking to his knees. The grass before his eyes is suddenly obscured by an image of Castiel, limp on a couch, black bile bubbling out of his mouth. _Knowing you, it… it’s been the best part of my life. You’re my family. I love you. I love all of you. Please —_

And a voice like Dean’s, cutting through: _We don’t leave family behind._

And again, tumbling over it: _Family don’t end in blood — but it doesn’t start there, either. Family_ cares _about you. Not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad — all of it. They got your back, even when it hurts. That’s family._

“Jack?” Dean’s hands are on his shoulders, shaking him, and he feels a slap across his face. “Jack!”

Jack heaves a great breath. At last his vision clears. Dean’s crouched down in front of him, lance forgotten in the grass beside him, gripping Jack by the front of his jacket. “I’m okay,” Jack gasps.

“What was that?” Dean demands. “Was it angel radio?”

“No,” Jack manages. “No, it was — something else.” He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “Something new. That lance — did that lance kill Castiel?”

Dean stares at him for a long time without answering. “Came close,” he says at last.

“I saw him… there was black stuff coming out of his mouth. And he was talking about family. And _you_ were talking about family too, only it wasn’t — it’s all muddled up.” He grits his teeth in frustration. He can’t even get this right. Just a simple retelling of what he saw.

“All right,” says Dean. “All right.” He pulls Jack once more to his feet, frowns, and dusts him off. Then he picks up the lance, still watching Jack with a furrowed brow.

He doesn’t lead the way this time. Instead, he places a hand in the small of Jack’s back and guides him gently toward the car.

Jack makes automatically for the back seat, but Dean raises his eyebrows at him, and Jack realizes suddenly that it’s just them. He looks up in surprise. “I can — ?”

“Go for it, kid,” Dean grunts, and Jack can’t suppress the bubble of happiness that swells in his chest as he makes his way around the Impala’s hood to the passenger side.

Dean doesn’t get in right away, rummages around in the trunk and then reemerges with rope. “Not taking any chances,” he mutters, “with you, around this,” and he sets about tying the lance to the roof of the car.

“I won’t try to kill myself,” says Jack. “I promise.” But Dean just shoots him a warning look and carries on.

\---

They have to drive with the windows down to accommodate the rope where it passes under the roof of the car. The night air is cool enough to make Jack shiver, and Dean spares him a glance and turns up the heat.

“So you get cold, huh,” he says.

Jack frowns. He hasn’t thought about it. “Yes, I suppose so,” he says. “Is that… bad?”

Dean shrugs. “For you I guess it is.”

Jack feels his gut tighten with anxiety. “I don’t understand.”

Dean spares him a glance, and then, a double take. He frowns, for just an instant, and then laughs. “Being cold has no moral value in the universe,” he says. “I promise.”

This hasn’t occurred to Jack. He considers it. “Oh,” he says.

“It’s just, you know, not fun. For you, I mean.” He glances at Jack again. “Is it?”

Thinking it over carefully, Jack decides, “No, not really.”

“All right, then,” says Dean. “I should call Cas. Let him know I found you ok.”

The conversation is a quick one. _Hey, Cas. Yeah, I got him. He’s fine. We’ll see you back at the bunker. Yeah, you too._  

When Jack strains, he can almost hear Castiel’s voice rumbling on the other end of the line. But not quite. How is it that he can hear these — voices — from the past, but not someone speaking on a cell phone that’s not against his ear?

“All right,” says Dean. “Listen up. By your feet there’s a box of cassette tapes. Pull one out.”

Jack doesn’t know what a cassette tape is, but he obeys, and hands it over to Dean when he holds his hand out.

Dean holds the tape up between his first two fingers so Jack can see, then slides it into a slot in the Impala’s console. “This,” he says, “is Led Zeppelin.”

“Led… Zeplin,” Jack repeats dutifully.

“Led Zeppelin,” says Dean. He doesn’t look over at Jack. But as the first few chords sound over the Impala’s speaker, he smiles.


End file.
